


Toys

by CoatTheBoneless



Category: Kingkiller Chronicles - Patrick Rothfuss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-21
Updated: 2019-08-21
Packaged: 2020-09-23 12:36:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20340211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CoatTheBoneless/pseuds/CoatTheBoneless
Summary: I wanted to write something from the perspective of the Cthaeh, just because its potential for horror is underappreciated. Also, its view through time is an interesting thing I wanted to play with. Like my other pieces, this is pretty short.In my depiction, and I think in canon as well, the Cthaeh guarantees that the actions of the last person he talked to will draw in the next person, and so on.





	Toys

I enjoyed my talk with Lanre. He was such a fine young man, and so intelligent! So many assume that those who are strong are also stupid. Not so. Lanre was the perfect example of this, full of strength of body, mind, and character. A person full to the absolute brim with potential and power. But every warrior has a crack in their armor.

“I want to bring back my wife,” he’d said.

“If only you were more than just a man,” I’d said.

I so enjoyed conversation. It was always such an intriguing appetizer to the future to come. Mere words could divert whole rivers of fate, and without even glancing across time I could see it play across his face. Like how a child plays with a wooden sword, hinting at the scarlet he will paint for me when he comes of age. The words “Lyra” or “name” formed the strings upon which this hero danced for me so obediently.

He left as I always knew he would, striding purposefully through the grass towards what was to come.

As he left, I looked idly across time, perusing through his many failings and tragedies. Fire, death, and calamity opened up before me like a great temporal rose. I saw him rip out his old name and fill the gaping hole with something new, something more dangerous. I saw him call to his lost love, hoping to bring her back as she had done for him. 

I saw the cracks spread from his empty heart and I saw him break with a sound like ice shattering. It was fascinating, and achingly beautiful to witness. I said as much to the butterflies, who didn’t seem to appreciate my words. Their wings fell to earth like so many leaves. A reflection, perhaps, of what unfolded before me. Seemingly random, but fitting a great mosaic of a design. It wasn’t enough.

After his break Lanre sought to break others, as I knew he would. He fell upon his fellow man with a vigor. I watched with glee as he poured more effort into his dealing death than he ever poured into bringing his love back. He became an artist of carnage; he betrayed his vows, turned against his fellow man, and unleashed demons and the hell of war upon the world. He painted the most beautiful scenes for me, my little artist. And with each city that fell, he invested more in the future. His legend grew. He began to take the shape I had crafted for him. It was an odd relationship, the art creating art for the artist.

And then the fall of Myr Tariniel. The crescendo that the whole song had built to. The masterpiece. The final stroke. He looked so sharp and jagged atop the cliffs above the city, looking on as it burned.

Selitos gave me a gift then: he poured yet more pain into his old friend, piling on the final curse that would seal my creation’s fate. The closing of Haliax’s doors would let me hold the depths of his pain close, to peer inside, to explore every nook and cranny. For each agonizing second over thousands of years, I watched with fascination. A torture that lasted lifetimes without a drop of blood spilled. I was particularly proud of my work with him.

But, as always, I grew tired of Haliax. I brushed aside his path, looking instead to those he killed. Or rather, those he failed to kill. One just as full of potential as Lanre had been. One who would give anything to have their revenge on my old masterpiece. One who would begin the cycle anew.

Even now, he approaches my tree. I idly pluck at a red butterfly, its falling wings the same color as his hair. Nearly the same color as blood. Oh, what fun I will have with him! What terrible, terrible fun!

**Author's Note:**

> [Find me on Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/coat-the-boneless)   



End file.
